the-last-poet-beheaded - Tumblr blog

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

Sublime maiden.

I don't want to know anything about the world,

everything seems so asocial to me,

that's why I prefer your look

Well, it takes me to a spring place

Wherever you go, take me with you

do not abandon me as father to son.

Are your lips that give me shelter

and like a child they provide shelter.

Install yourself in my mind forever

inspire me every morning

to write verses that will be a fire

of love for you in every evening.

Sad-eyed little lady

don't abandon my dreams please

keep shining like a thousand suns

and brighten my nights with your color.

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

My last verses

From my deep loneliness

I have to remind you with sweetness:

for your crazy vanity

and your eyes the color of aurora.

May my kisses be kept on your skin

like a coveted treasure

for all the lofty vultures

that furrow over your hairstyle.

Ungraspable my feelings

bruised by reality,

they will remember with a thousand regrets

the flight of my happiness.

Bury me with your love

your little fleeting affection

that has excited me like a child

and it killed me like a bird of prey.

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

LOVE.

The sublime ineffable word, spark of internal chaos. The poignant sentiment of noble souls and eternal torment for the delusional madman

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

"Stars and humans are alike in many ways; sometimes, the brightness of both continues even though we are no longer there." Ivan Égüez

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

I don't think I dream of you tonight but if fate makes you appear in my dreams, hold me as tightly as the last time our souls in love saw each other ...

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

To my feelings

In the valleys your emotions will shine

like a fragile sun that crowns noon,

while in the dirty night sewers

my loving care for you has to drown.

Let him die slowly, let him agonize slowly

like the carcamal or like a sick child.

May the accomplice of pain be extinguished soon,

burn in the loneliness of my heart.

Wake up no more, stay lethargic

during the withering of my life.

It exists when my name no longer exists,

have mercy on a soul broken by suffering.

Strange love disappears at once

ally of the murder of my good.

Wander in the foliage of oblivion

and get lost in the enormity of my mind.

Don't come back anymore, listen to my demand,

satisfies the poet's wishes ...

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

Perhaps that absence of yours is what keeps me alive still, and at the same time, it is the pain that keeps me dead inside.

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

25/06

Tender death, you whisper in my ear

and again you visit me in my lethargy

to persuade me with the absurd idea

that at your side all my suffering

it will be one more crumb lost in time;

that those remembrances that were pleasures

and all the memories that today are tragedies

will be consummated on the day of my ruin

burning as fast as a haystack,

reducing everything to grayish ashes

that will fly through life in an attempt

to be seen as valuable memories

that resulted in dead poetry,

ideas that are not and will not become.

I don't want to suffocate in my sad agony

I don't want it, I'm dying in life!

But if the only antidote to discomfort

is having to accompany you in your evenings,

I hope you hug me tight tonight

and may your icy kiss on my cheek

be the fortuitous sign of my departure.

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

Hypophrenia

It rained like never before while you were hiding

Waiting for your joy to return.

You didn't sleep for all these days;

You were daydreaming with my gaze.

Through your transparent window you saw me

Longing for that day to come soon

In which you could call me "my life."

Who would say that everything turned into agony.

When you woke up in my grave I lay,

Without emotions my body would rest.

You tried to lift me up with your melody

You tried always, all night and day.

Your waterfall cry did not revive me:

It was off, and it was off.

With a bouquet on your cold hand

You tenderly said "goodbye, my love ..."

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

Coastal love

Tomorrow I may not find you anymore

It will be because at last you have left

or because the wind tore me from your hands

in an overwhelmed attempt at salvation,

not to sink like a ship at sea:

let no one witness the pain

more than the anguished captain

for not taking care of your crew.

Love of a life, passion of a night

memory dwells in the lineage of the soul,

a gloomy and despondent memory.

Your image will be the top of oblivion

like christmas presents

that lie cornered in the attic

waiting to be used one more time

for a future infant expression of pain.

Certainly you are the one who visits me

reliving what the sand buried

impregnating in its wake tints of oblivion

which letter to an absent recipient

in the middle of the bane of affection.

Kill me from afar my beloved,

let your indifference stab me in the back

in memory of all my love for you.

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

Love does not fit within a simple poem, but it expresses what a madly in love soul feels every time he sees his beloved....

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

Feelings of the full-moon

Hold me a little more, I need your beauty,

of your aroma, your body and your fabulous texture

that envelops everyone who sees it and plunges it into madness,

transforming your mind; impregnating it with sweetness.

Hold me a little more, until the stars are inspired

watching as two young souls finally come together,

and before such a sublime act all the stars accept

give life to new constellations; that always illuminate.

Hold me a little more, put your lips together with mine,

help me to abandon all my dark past,

teach me the way and your hidden treasures:

with your kisses take me, that promised future.

Hold me a little more, source of eternal inspiration.

On this exciting night of full moon

I try to express everything in a simple, ephemeral poem

in which not even half of what is in my soul fits.

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

Days on Venus

May my caresses not die tomorrow.

Let the years be mere seconds

and the days be eternal centuries.

May your pampering pierce my whole soul

until the moment of my desired departure.

Like a match in the middle of the rain

it was you during my exhaustien.

Vexed the soul of yours by my sunset.

In the andorga of Terra is your hobby,

intoxicating drug of the dead writer.

The Guiding Star of the Filibuster

in the sudden tide of reason.

The shadow truce in front of the killer Sun

was and will be your presence within me,

until you bury me without compassion.

Like a wall you were your

when my heart no longer beat,

and in all stormy moments

it was you who together with your bright light

from the dark abyss he pulled me out.

You were the extinct smoke of my cigar

and, also, you flew in summer

heading to a beloved future.

From afar I have seen your genius

when the stars pose on you.

It is and will be a treasure your memory

saved forever in my reserves.

It is and will be your time given

a day on Venus with a golden sky;

one hundred and sixteen holy days.

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

Life is similar to the sigh of a child that slowly moves away from its mouth, losing heat and spreading through the eternity of the sad and agonizing existence ...

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

From a beating heart

The natural red of your sinister lips

permeates their sighs in time and space,

subverting the crazy reality;

bathing her in passions and gift verses.

Zeal feels my soul around you:

by the morning whistles of the nightingale,

for the sky that you admire in every sunset,

by the illuminating Moon and its tenor.

With my withered voice I declaim poetry

inspired by your heavenly majesty.

That in a collection of poems this relic is kept

like the memory of a forbidden night.

Little life of mine to contemplate you,

to marvel at your eternal beauty.

Similarly, like the old lovers,

I will give my vigor if I cannot touch you.

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

16/11

I want to die in solitude, accompanied

of the emptiness you left within me,

and if the emptiness is not sufficiently deep

I will search the souvenir library

every morning under the clear sky

to sink into this slow suffering

and engage with the pain, your excessive pain....

[the-last-poet-beheaded]

From my lucid dreams...

In the rain, under the same tree as always

I found you, you always kept in mind.

The old summer was the last of many:

that summer you loved every second

it was the grave of my unworthy and dirty presence.

I arrived after five years of despair,

of sorrows and several gatherings with the dogs.

You were there, waiting for my arrival

like a lantern that takes care of the boats in nothingness.

You shone as the only star in the cosmos.

You were there, and forever will be,

monument in memory of my happiness:

surrounded by roses, under the glass tree

who keeps the memory of our beautiful kiss;

warm as the sun and humid as drizzle.

I long that when I wake up you will continue in my mind,

or at least, to find yourself in the decadent world

and that you are not a bizarre dream anymore.

My affection for your caresses was so real,

as well as the pain I felt when I didn't find you....